


Indubitably

by pollitt



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 19:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Indubitably: Too evident to be doubted. <span class="small">[Merriam-Webster]</span></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Indubitably

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired as I was listening to the audiobook of Lyndsay Faye's _Dust and Shadows: An Account of the Ripper Killings by Dr. John H. Watson_
> 
> Thank you to Maverick and Data for their beta and cheerleading.

It was in an unassuming hole-in-the-wall diner, in a small town just outside of London, as Inspector Lestrade conversed with his country equal on one side of table while Sherlock and I sat on the other.

We had been in the village for just over a week, following one of Sherlock’s theories as to the perpetrator of some rather grisly crimes. We had left the names of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson miles away in London, and it was only Detective Ryan and Inspector Lestrade who had known our true identity.

The Detective and the Inspector were discussing the finer points of jurisdiction when it happened. Sherlock’s hand moved, resting over my own.

Sherlock Holmes--nor Gwythyr Crowther, the name he had adopted on this, our undercover mission--was not someone to casually touch anyone. Analytical, investigative, clinical and precise, those were the times he would touch, would explore.

But this, this was something wholly different.

The hairs on my arms stood on end and it took every ounce of will power not to move my hand or to otherwise indicate I had in any way become aware of this new development. Because if I had, I was certain that Sherlock--who was as impassive as I had ever seen him--would take his hand away. And I wasn’t certain I could bear that.

And then something truly extraordinary happened.

As I sat, attempting nonchalance, attempting to listen to the conversation that was continuing between the oblivious police officers, Sherlock’s fingers curled around the back of my hand, his fingertips sliding between the cool vinyl of the booth and the palm of my hand.

It may have been completely possible that I forgot to breathe.

“Doctor Watson?” Lestrade asked, pausing mid-sentence and looking at me curiously. “You alright?”

“What?” I’d asked, unsure I had actually answered, so loud was the sound of blood rushing to my ears. “Sorry?”

“ _Mister_ Davies has been up for nearly 24 hours, Inspector,” Sherlock said, his voice the mix of annoyance and condescension that was to be expected from the great detective. “We’ve been following the most abhorrent of criminals and for the past quarter of an hour, you and Detective Ryan have been discussing official procedure that, quite frankly, would put even the most attentive man to sleep. Might I suggest, if you have more to discuss, that you allow us to return to our lodgings. I’ve trained myself to function on little sleep, but my friend here is not as accustomed.”

Lestrade gave Sherlock a quizzical look, but he had learned through years of experience that it was best not to argue with Sherlock when he took that tone.

“Fair enough. I think we have all that we might need from you, don’t you agree Ian?” Lestrade said, looking at Detective Ryan with a look that said his comment was not so much a question as a statement of fact.

“Yes, of course.” Detective Ryan nodded and looked between the two of us and Lestrade.

“Oh and Sherlock,” the Inspector said as Sherlock stood and began to put on his coat and I was mentally shaking myself back into the present. “Do let us know if you have any developments. On the case of course.”

“Of course Inspector.” Sherlock held my coat in his hand and offered it to me with a raised eyebrow. “Ready?”

It was a quick, silent, walk to our rooms. I wavered, not for the first time, between wanting to grab Sherlock by his collar and asking what had just happened or grabbing him by the collar and pressing him against the wall and kissing this man.

But I didn’t. And when we made it there, it was Sherlock who leaned down and kissed me. Unlike the earlier moments in the diner, I was expecting this. I reached for him, my hand clutching at his shoulder as I kissed him back.

“Just as I suspected,” Sherlock said, straightening up again with a smile on his face as though he’d just found a vital piece of a puzzle.

My hand was still on his shoulder as he said this, and at his words I’d stepped back, my hand dropping to my side and my back hitting the wall.

“The flush that spread from your neck to your ears, the increased pulse and rigid posture. The slight dampness of your palm. And before that, the glances you thought I didn’t catch. The level of protectiveness you display toward me. It was the only logical answer.” He was talking to himself more than to me. There was a small part of my rapidly wary brain that delighted in the fact that he hadn’t stepped away from me, hadn’t taken roost in his temporary favorite chair where he liked to unravel his mysteries.

I felt light-headed. I felt as though someone had dealt a blow to my solar plexus. I felt an anger welling deep in my chest, side-by-side with something that could only be described as a pure and true hope.

“Sherlock.” I was standing on the edge of a very sharp cliff and if I were going to jump, I had to make sure there was something there to soften my fall. “Please, for the love of God, tell me you didn’t do that--didn’t do what you did back at the diner--to simply prove your theory.”

For a moment he looked as though I’d just asked him the most elementary of questions, one whose answer was painfully, logically obvious. But then I witnessed the third impossible thing.

Sherlock’s no doubt logical and literal answer died on his lips.

He stepped forward, further into my space, and picked up my hand--the same hand he’d held not an hour before--and pressed it to his chest.

“Well, Doctor?” I could feel his rapid heartbeat, and he was close enough that I could see tiny beads of sweat on his upper lip. “Does this answer your question?”

I couldn’t stop my smile. “It certainly helps.”

His smile wasn’t unexpected, but it was one I hadn’t seen before. And with my own newfound evidence, I could pull him forward and kiss him.

It was good to know that like all our cases we were in this together.


End file.
